


Muted

by notjustmom



Series: What if... [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, First Meeting, John deduces Sherlock, John is John, Love at First Sight, M/M, Sherlock has laryngitis, Sherlock moonlights as bartender between cases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:20:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7271740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by a scene in the movie Beginners...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Muted

**Author's Note:**

> What if... Sherlock couldn't speak when he first meets John, but falls in love with him at first sight?

Sherlock was bored, which was completely normal. What made it even more unbearable was the fact that he couldn't speak. He could make drinks, pull ales, and listen to the interminable sob stories, but could not deduce the morons who were making his life a misery. He wiped down the bar again, then looked up with a sigh...oh. Wait.

Blond. Soldier...doctor...? Limp, tremor...left handed, beautiful eyes. What. Yes, yes they were. The darkest blue he had ever seen ringed in gold.

"Guinness?"

Sherlock blinked at him.

"Hello? Pint of Guinness?

Damn, right. Focus.

He pulled the - surgeon...he had been a surgeon, til he was injured, tremor ended his career, his pint then got slammed for the next few hours until the waitress finally bellowed 'Last Call!' The morons all ordered one last whatever they'd already had too much of, then filtered out into the night.

"You've got a touch of laryngitis." Blue eyes had nursed his pint all night.

Sherlock nodded. He found his notebook and scribbled out: "Afghanistan."

"Right." He looked at his empty pint as if he wished he could disappear.

"Another?" Sherlock hurriedly scrawled out.

He shook his head. "Broke."

"On the house."

The dark eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"Please, stay?"

He nodded. 

"The same or something stronger?"

"Scotch?"

"Double?"

He grinned and shrugged, "Why not."

Sherlock got out the good stuff that he kept for the few people that didn't bore him. It was the first time he'd ever reached for it.

"How did you know?"

"The laryngitis? Child's play. Cup after cup of herbal tea, which you drink even though you hate it; an hour ago you wanted to verbally take apart the arsehole who pinched the waitress, but signaled your bouncer to toss him out instead; and you keep trying to clear your throat...like I said, child's play, any first year med student could have seen it." He finished the drink then pushed away, as if getting ready to leave. "Thank you for the drink, best I've had in a long time."

"Wait."

"Why?"

"You aren't boring."

He laughed and Sherlock nearly fell over. It was rusty, but honest, joy that escaped from the man in front of him. He wanted to make him laugh like that again, and again...

Sherlock came out from behind the bar and looked down into those eyes, beautiful, scared, sad, exhausted eyes that looked back with wary hope. "You don't want..."

Sherlock shook his head, then bent down and gently kissed him.

He whispered hoarsely, "Yeah, I do. Come home with me - I don't sleep or eat much, play the violin at all hours, don't talk for days especially when I stay out on a stake-out for two days in the rain, even though Geoff told me to go home..."

"Are those your better qualities?"

Sherlock grinned at him. "Sherlock Holmes."

"John Watson." He pulled Sherlock into another kiss, then sighed. "Thank you."

Sherlock shrugged. "For?"

"For saving me tonight," he whispered.

"No, thank you, John." Sherlock grabbed his scarf and coat, then turned off the lights. He locked up the pub, and looked at the man next to him. "I have the feeling you will never bore me."


End file.
